


Learn To Fly

by tattooeddevil



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies), Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 04:00:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1065510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tattooeddevil/pseuds/tattooeddevil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom Hiddleston walks into a bar and meets... Erik Selvig!</p>
<p>For intoabar at LJ</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learn To Fly

Chris came back to their table with wide, slightly stunned eyes. “There’s a guy sitting at the bar who says he Erik Selvig.”

He chuckled disbelievingly. “And he actually looks like Stellan, too!”

Tom laughed and clapped Chris on his shoulder. “That’s enough beer for you, Evans.”

Chris glanced down at the almost empty glass in his hand, and shook his head drunkenly. “Yeah. I mean--Yeah. No! More beer!”

Tom chuckled, pretended to sigh, before pushing Chris down to his seat. “Fine. I’ll go get us some fresh ones.”

“Say hi to Erik for me!”

Tom waved a hand at Chris with a laugh. For such a big guy, Chris had a surprising low tolerance for alcohol and it never got old to see him slowly lose his grip on reality. Tom would never let Chris get into truly crazy things, but for now he was going to sit back and enjoy the show.

The bar was quiet, most people sitting at the tables to watch the football--American football, not what he called football--on the big screen the pub set up at the back. He couldn’t spot the man that Chris had believed was Erik Selvig unfortunately, he would have loved to see who had Chris confused like that. And maybe have a little fun with it. Tom laughed to himself, drunken Chris really was a hoot.

He waved down the bartender. “Two Stella’s, please?”

“Englishman?”

He turned his head to look at the man Chris mistook for Stellan sitting a few barstools away, and immediately did a double take. “Stellan?”

The resemblance was uncanny. If Tom didn’t know any better, he’d swear it **was** Stellan. The man looked so much like Stellan, Tom found himself enthusiastically hugging him as if he were actually a friend he hadn’t seen in a while, before he could stop himself. The man was completely rigid in his arms and it took a few seconds for Tom to realize he was hugging a strange man.

Because Stellan couldn’t be here, he was somewhere in Europe shooting a new film, last Tom heard.

Right?

Tom awkwardly let go of the man and took a step back. He rubbed his palms on his jacket nervously, and mumbled an apology. “Sorry, you looked like someone I know. Sorry. I didn’t mean--”

When he looked back up, the man was looking at him like he had grown a second head, but all Tom could see was Stellan staring back at him. Uncanny wasn’t the word, this was just plain weird.

The silence drew on, Tom staring at the Stellan-look-alike and the Stellan-look-alike staring back like in some kind of very non-violent stand-off, until the man cleared his throat and--thankfully--broke the awkward moment.

“I’m Erik.”

“Selvig?”

It was out of his mouth as a knee-jerk reaction, but the man actually nodded. “Yes. I am Erik Selvig, and I am an astrophysicist.”

The laugh poured out of his mouth before he could stop it. This was ridiculous, was he losing his sanity? He seemed to have lost control over his own brain and mouth, and wasn’t that the beginning of insanity?

“You have to be joking.” And then it dawned on him. “Is this Joss? Alan? No wait! It was Ken, wasn’t it? He always did threaten to get back at me.”

If possible, the man--Erik?--looked even more confused. Tom weakly tried one more time. “This is all just a joke. Where are the camera’s?”

The man--Tom refused to refer to him as Erik just yet--shook his head. “No camera’s. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know anyone named Joss or Alan or Ken.”

Tom paused. The man seemed genuinely puzzled about Tom’s implications, and surely Stellan would have cracked by now. But if this wasn’t Stellan, who was he? Tom refused to believe it was Erik Selvig. Erik Selvig was a fictional character from a fictional universe that didn’t exist outside of Marvel’s imaginations and a few Hollywood films.

“You cannot be Erik Selvig.”

And there his mouth went again without his consent.

The man barked a laugh. “You are the second one to tell me that tonight. I assure you, I **am** in fact Erik Selvig.”

He took his wallet from his back pocket and took out a card. “Here, my driver’s license.”

Tom took the license, but before he could look at it, his phone rang. The display read ‘Stellan S. mobile.’

No way.

He looked at the man on the barstool in front of him, and then back to his phone. The man wasn’t calling him. So if the man was Stellan, and he wasn’t calling him, then who was? He glanced around the bar, was someone else calling him with Stellan’s phone?

And he was back with his original thought that someone was pulling their leg.

“Do you need to get that?”

The man’s voice pulled him from his thoughts and, with new-found determination, he pressed ‘accept’.

“Hello?”

“Tom! It’s Stellan. How are you?”

He froze. “You sound just like Stellan.”

Stellan--was it Stellan?--laughed down the phone. “You sound surprised. What did Chris try to sell you, man? Did he make up some story about me being dead or something? Seriously, keep that man away from alcohol if you value your sanity.”

Dumbfounded was a better word to describe the state Tom was in right now. Dumbfounded, stunned, bewildered, astonished. Pick one, any would do.

“I think I lost my sanity about ten minutes ago, to be honest. Where are you?”

“Serbia, on a shoot. What is going on over there? I got a weird text from Chris about Erik Selvig in a bar?”

Tom looked at the man next to him. “Erik?”

Erik nodded. “Erik Selvig. Astrophysicist.”

He glanced at the driver’s license in his hand. Erik Selvig. Male, 6’3, eyes: green.

“Tom?”

Stellan sounded as confused as Erik was looking, and it made Tom’s head spin. He hung up the phone without another word, and handed Erik his license back. When he turned back to the bartender, there were two bottles of Stella waiting for him, and he slammed down a twenty dollar note.

“And a double shot of whiskey please. I am not nearly drunk enough for this.”


End file.
